


Control

by dovingbird



Category: The Protomen
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Wily’s illicit entanglement with his married assistant starts to become more than just a passing habit that he can ignore, he hatches a plan to finally, after long last, own her. Written as a commission for a woman with one of the most fascinating OCs I've seen in a long while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> One day the woman that commissioned me is going to post her own work featuring this OC, and you will all love it. Trust me. I'm very hard on OCs, but Sarah? She's something else.

He wasn't looking for a reaction, necessarily, when he opened the door, and that's why it was easy for him to walk in before her, to trust that she'd bring up the rear. Wilys were the leaders, after all, never the followers, and she was of poor enough stock that she knew her role. When he heard the gasp, however, he let a small smirk cross his lips.  
  
“Shut the door, if you would,” he murmured as he worked at the buckles keeping his coat closed. Glanced up when there was only silence in response. “Sarah.” The directness of his tone caught her attention, made her meet his eyes. “The door?”  
  
Normally she would get a little frustrated, maybe even make a face at him, but she was clearly still lost in her surroundings. Even as she shut the door behind her she stared around, looking up at the ceiling as if this was a cathedral, as if there was a fresco painted above her. There wasn't. But he supposed the lofted ceilings _were_ a nice touch. “My God.”  
  
“Now, now...” He draped the coat over a coat rack and made sure that it hung straight and unwrinkled. “...'Wily' has always sufficed between us, hasn't it, my dear?”  
  
“I can't even get mad at you. I should, but I can't. This is just incredible. A whole city living in squalor on the outskirts, and yet there's places like...like _this_ around!”  
  
She was young, so very very young. It took a moment like this to remind him of it. He breathed a chuckle as he tugged his leather gloves off, one finger at a time. “Incredible what you can create when you have enough imagination, isn't it?”  
  
“You designed this?”  
  
“Enough of it.” He lifted his eyebrows, glanced at the finer details he was most proud of: the fireplace, the shape of the windows, the view over the bright lights of the city that was gradually being rebuilt. “Enough to take the credit.”  
  
Sarah fell silent, then, and Wily took advantage of the moment to study the face of his young lab assistant. Her eyes looked about ready to swallow her face, and her mouth was agape. She was so soft, so guileless. It was as if she didn't even think of disguising her emotions.  
  
She was like a fine work of art, a sculpture to keep in the ballroom, and yet she also had that mind, the one that she had devoted an entire lifetime of study to making it utterly flawless in so many ways. Remarkable how some creatures out there couldn't recognize it. Couldn't _appreciate_ it.  
  
He tugged his second glove off with a sudden twitchy movement.  
  
“There'll be food in the kitchen,” he said offhandedly as he tucked his gloves into his coat pockets. “Come.”  
  
“You cook?” Sarah asked in a deadpan tone as she followed.  
  
He chuckled. “You have such faith in me.”  
  
The serving platters were still steaming, filled as they were with food, with a plate laid aside already made. It took him a moment to locate his plates, so rarely he used them on his own, but he plucked one down once they were discovered. “I don't believe it,” he heard Sarah say as he began to fill the second plate, being careful to place each portion exactly as it was on the other. “You have maids, don't you? And a cook. I can't believe you.”  
  
“Do you know how many people became unemployed after the little experiment with the mines?” He glanced toward her. “Personally, I think I'm doing a...a great _service_ for the people of this city.”  
  
Sarah snorted. “Oh, of course you are. It wouldn't benefit you at _all_ , would it? Just for the good of the city.”  
  
He grinned, wide and sharklike. “Now you're getting it.” He jerked his head toward a cabinet behind him. “There should be a few wine glasses in there, and a bottle already laid out.”  
  
A sound of a door opening, of glasses clinking very quietly together. “You don't have to feed me, you know. I have plenty of food at home.”  
  
The temptation was to laugh, but he withheld it. She'd understand in time. “I have more than enough. And we've put in a terribly long day, haven't we?”  
  
“Yes, but-”  
  
“And it's late. Won't you have to be quiet in your apartment? Lest you wake someone up?”  
  
“Maybe, but-”  
  
“And I have more than enough food. Wouldn't you agree?”  
  
“But Dr. Wily-”  
  
“Of all things to fight me on, you pick this?”  
  
“...oh, fine.” A moment later the wine bottle swam before his eyes. “And I suppose you know if this is a good year or not?”  
  
He studied it. Grinned again. “The finest, of course.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Dr. Wily, I don't even know what to do with you sometimes.” But there was amusement on her tone, not judgment, and that was all that mattered. She was getting softer the more time she spent around him. Turning into someone who would slowly stop questioning him.  
  
She recognized that he valued her. And, since he imagined she had received so little of that in her daily life until now, she embraced it. Embraced _him._  
  
Strange how that worked. He still wasn't sure what he thought of it. But he was in deep now, after the events of tonight. He glanced up at the clock and noted the time.  
  
Thirty minutes to showtime.  
  
They retired to the dining room, each on one end of his impressive table, and began to eat.  
  
“I don't even know what half of this is,” Sarah said with a laugh.  
  
“But do you like it?”  
  
“It's amazing.” She shook her head. “I don't think I've had anything this delicious in my life.”  
  
He glanced up at her, held her gaze. “Wait until you taste dessert.”  
  
They sat there for a moment, watching each other, before Sarah broke the eye contact first and looked down at her plate. Quiet besides the sound of clinking cutlery.  
  
Through it all Wily's mind was working. He was watching the large clock hanging from the wall, watching every little movement of the second hand. Running numbers in his head. Making calculations. It was an addiction. Even if he wasn't building, wasn't creating, wasn't planning out yet another robot and how to fix the issues it was having, he was useless without problems to work through. And _this..._ well, it was a mathematical proof. He had the answer, the future, already in his mind. The question was the best and most artistic way to get there.  
  
“I find myself wondering how that...useless husband of yours must be navigating the night.” Even as Wily spoke Sarah's knife was slowing from where it was cutting into some meat. He was broaching territory that had never been mentioned. Barely even referred to. “Is he even capable of feeding himself?”  
  
A pause. Sarah speared a piece of meat and put it in her mouth. She took quite some time chewing, just enough time to make Wily's hand tighten around his fork. “He's fed himself for the past three years,” she murmured finally. “I doubt that's going to change now.”  
  
“The poor unemployed mine worker. His life must be so difficult.”  
  
Sarah clattered her fork against her plate and lifted her head. She had such a prideful chin right here, right in this moment, that the light fell just so over her face, illuminated the last bit of faint discoloration around her eye that was finally starting to fade away. “As if you've ever had hardship to face.”  
  
Wily quirked an eyebrow. Fought the slight amusement in his chest. “Have I touched a sore spot?”  
  
She tightened her jaw.  
  
“I can't see why. It's not as if he's worth it. Some of those mine workers, they actually have some merit to their lives, have some reason to deserve the air they breathe. They don't lose their money to drink, their lives to gambling, their integrity to-”  
  
“Go to hell.”  
  
Three little words, crisply spoke, like she was better than her circumstances. That's all it took to make Wily's grin spread again. He shoved back from the table and stood tall, resting his palms flat on the surface. “Such loyalty,” he breathed. Began to make his way around, straight toward Sarah's unmoving figure. “Such commitment toward the man that used you for a punching bag.” He chuckled, the sound quiet and full of air, like a whisper. “I confess, I still find that fascinating, Miss Sarah. Incredible that you would stoop to such a level.” And then he was crossing behind her, lifting a hand to coax over her hair from bangs back. Letting his fingers tug the ponytail holder from it. “Especially...” He grabbed a handful of those locks and gently tilted her head back just a little, just enough for his mouth to brush against her ear. “...when you're fucking your boss.”  
  
She tightened her fingers around the arms of her chair as a soft exhale passed her lips and her eyes slid shut.  
  
“You owe him _nothing,_ ” he hissed. Let his eyes devour her profile from top to bottom as he drowned in the smell of her shampoo. “Let me make that perfectly clear. Not. A damn. Thing.”  
  
 _Especially,_ he thought, _when I own you now_  
  
He shot out his arm and wiped the table clean, crashing the plate against the wall and covering the carpet in wine. It didn't matter, not when he was wrapping his arms around her body, plucking her neatly from the chair, depositing her on the table to face him. Those long fingers of hers gripped his shirt lapels as he leaned in and touched his lips to her ear again. “We're about to conduct a little experiment, my dear assistant.” He traced her knee with his thumb, her thigh with the other. “Are you ready?”  
  
“What is it?” she whispered back.  
  
He chuckled, felt the way her fingers gripped all the harder. “Oh no, that's not how this experiment works. We have to keep you unbiased, don't we? Otherwise how are we to find the most accurate results?”  
  
She didn't fight him when he tugged down the zipper on her skirt and began to slide it free. She even lifted herself just enough to make the removal easier. “But I'm your assistant,” she reminded him. “If you don't let me in on the hypothesis, how can I help you come to the conclusion?”  
  
“...that's fair.” He leaned away from her ear and slid his index fingers under the waistband of her panties. Kept his eyes on hers the entire time that he eased the underwear away just to watch her breathing catch, her cheeks begin to flush. “We are both members of this experiment. We are going to catalog which sense is strongest.” He tossed the panties aside even as he ran a finger from the heels she still wore all the way up her pale leg. “Touch...” She sucked in that sharp breath that he so loved to hear when he pressed his other hand in between her breasts and coaxed her to lay back. “...or taste.”  
  
“God...” she whispered as her back hit the table.  
  
He spread her legs with a smirk at her word. “...good enough.”  
  
He flicked a critical eye over every inch of her as he leaned down and began to run those numbers again. Ten minutes to showtime. It would be child's play. But the real fun was in glancing up and watching Sarah, who was supporting herself on her elbows and watching him with wide eyes. This was out of their territory by a mile. They fucked like animals in his lab. He allowed her to suck him off when he was feeling particularly generous. But something like this? Never.  
  
“How long has it been?” he asked, emphasizing his words just enough to blow little clouds of air against her heat. “Since that useless man did something like this for you? High school, I would expect?”  
  
She flicked her eyes away.  
  
“Ah...I'm right. As always.”  
  
She began to close her legs but he jerked them open just as quickly, pinned them to the table with one strong hand on either thigh, and she met his eyes again. Her lips were parted. Her pupils dilating.  
  
“You know what happens when you fight, Sarah,” he murmured. “I break you down...until you realize...you should have succumbed in the first place.”  
  
The first sweep of his tongue was more of an exploration than anything – how did she feel? How did she taste? - but Sarah sucked in a sharp breath and fell flat on the table. A glance up only afforded him the curve of her breasts, the slight fray at the hem of the shirt she still wore. But he kept his eyes open even as he flicked out his tongue again and drew a slow circle around her clitoris. There was a buck, a soft “Shit” strangled from her lips,  and he cataloged every reaction like the scientist he was.  
  
He delved in more, deeper, learned how to fit his tongue against her, _inside_ of her, but the second her fingers threaded through his hair he broke the contact and glanced up again, listening to her frustrated groan. “Your hands, Sarah.” He arched an eyebrow. “Keep your hands to yourself.”  
  
She lifted her head and glared at him through glossy, heavily-lidded eyes. “That's not fair. You touch every part of me that you want-”  
  
“And so can you.” He fought the urge to chuckle. “So put your hands to good use.”  
  
She stared. He saw the wheels turning in her head. And then she eased back and grabbed the hem of her shirt, began to pull it up.  
  
“Clever girl, Sarah,” he said. And then he buried himself in her again.  
  
He would memorize this taste of her, he decided as he licked her from base to top, his tongue flat against her muscles and feeling every little twitch, every quiver. Would add it to his repertory of knowledge about her, from the sounds she made to how she wore her make-up. There was another buck against his face, a roll of her hips, and he wrapped his fingers around her waist, squeezed until she moaned, until he could feel the skin turning purple beneath his touch as he held her immobile against the table. She fought him, and he rewarded her with a sharp graze of his teeth against her clitoris to make her squeal.  
  
All the while her breasts were bare and she rolled her fingers over her nipples in a maddening rhythm, almost hypnotizing for him to watch. He caught his breath. Sucked her clit between his lips just as he slid two fingers inside of her.  
  
The race was on. One minute. He pumped his hand inside of her, coaxed his fingers to brush in his direction, pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, to hold her eye, before he hissed out his words. “You're about to break, aren't you, my dear? About to lose it. About to _soak my dining room table through._ ” She closed her eyes with a whisper, something profane, something he didn't catch, and he grinned. “Open your eyes, my little slut.” And she did. She pinned him with them like he was a dragonfly on a display board. “You cannot come...until I say you can. Do you understand me?”  
  
She jerked her head in a nod. “Y-yes.”  
  
He shoved another finger inside of her as he bared his teeth, listened to her cry out. “I said, _do you understand me?_ ”  
  
“Yes sir!”  
  
“Good.” He worked his hand faster as he caught sight of the clock. Twenty seconds. He slurped up the wetness he found, rolled that tongue of his all around her clit, worked like a man possessed until he began to hear those incredibly familiar sounds begin to come from Sarah's mouth. “Don't you dare.”  
  
“I-I...”  
  
“Not _yet._ ”  
  
She dug her teeth into her lip until he saw blood staining it. Five seconds.  
  
Four.  
  
Three...  
  
He pulled her to him in a rush, slammed his fingers into her. “Come for me right this fucking _second-_ ”  
  
“Fuuuck!” She threw her head back and screamed and drowned out the tolling of the clock, and Wily reveled in it.  
  
Somewhere across the city right now, right at this moment, there were screams of another kind. Gunshots. People peeking through their curtains, but too afraid to investigate. It was beautiful, wasn't it? At the same instant that Sarah was soaking his face, bucking against his mouth, digging those fingers into his hair whether he liked it or not, she had also become a widow.  
  
And she had _no fucking idea._  
  
When he broke away and rose above her, it fascinated him just how undone she looked. Her hair was tousled around her flushed face, her mascara-darkened eyelashes brushing against her cheeks, her shirt pulled around her collarbone and her breasts spilling over her folded-down bra. He realized as if from a distance how hard he was, and he instinctively pressed against the table, felt a little thrum shoot through his veins.  
  
By the time she finally opened her eyes he was smirking, a hand still on either thigh, gently kneading the flesh there. “Tell me your side of the results, Sarah.”  
  
She breathed out a laugh as she covered her eyes with one hand. “Unbelievable. You do something like that, and you expect me to keep thinking clearly.”  
  
“You mean to tell me there's nothing on your mind? Not a thing?”  
  
A pause. She peeked out from behind her hand and bit her bottom lip. Her lip gloss bled a faint shine onto her teeth. “...I...”  
  
He quirked a brow. “What?”  
  
Her cheeks took on a deeper color, a shade of magenta he'd never seen on her skin before. “Nothing,” she finally managed, averting her eyes.  
  
He squeezed her thighs harder. Fed her that silent warning even as he spoke with slow, lilting words. “Tell me what you want, my dear.”  
  
She snapped her eyes back to his. Took in a deep breath. And finally flicked her gaze down to his lips instead. “...kiss me.”  
  
A surge of repulsion shot through him. After all this time, she was still trying to make things sweet, romantic? He felt the scowl pulling at his cheeks. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”  
  
She nibbled at her lips before sitting up, movements careful and fluid. “...I-I want to know...what I taste like.”  
  
It was amazing, really, just how quickly that revulsion turned into an electric shock, a burst of lightning shooting right down his spine. He flicked his eyes all over her face, forehead to chin to nose to eyes, before he dragged her to him in one slick movement, pressed himself against her and sucked in a sharp breath just as he melded his lips against hers. He took her at her word. He pressed his tongue between her lips without asking, without waiting for an invitation, and licked her clean. He consumed her. And when she threaded her fingers through his hair and he grabbed her wrists, slammed them down on the table, he ate up the moan she transferred to him like a man starved.  
  
He only broke the kiss when he realized he was feeling lighter than air, like he was floating in the clouds. A sensation like that was useless. He pulled back and opened his eyes.  
  
Sarah was floating too. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted, and he watched as a slim thread of saliva, of perhaps her own juices, stretched between them before snapping.  
  
“What else have you been wanting, my dear?”  
  
She dropped her head. Tightened her hold on the edge of the table. “...I...”  
  
“If I hear that letter one more time without anything following it...”  
  
“Tie me up.”  
  
The three words came tripping out of her mouth in a rush, like stampeding cattle, and Wily smirked at her as she opened her eyes tentatively. He hoped she read it as amusement. He especially hoped she didn't see the way he knew his pupils were dilating. “Is that what you want?” he breathed.  
  
She nodded. “Yes.”  
  
He loosened the knot of his tie. Cocked his head to the side as he watched her eyes follow his fingers. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes, very.”  
  
The silk loosened and flitted away from his neck in a quiet, slick sound. When he leaned in to whisper this time, her eyes were already fluttering closed. “Tell me how much you want it.”  
  
She exhaled sharply, the hot air brushing his ear in a rush, and he licked his lips as he trailed his eyes over her profile. “Please. Please tie me up.”  
  
“Why would I do that?”  
  
“Because I...I don't want to be...”  
  
“...go on-”  
  
“I want you to control me.”  
  
Another electric shock through his veins. “Is that so?” He took hold of her shirt and pulled it over her head.  
  
“Everything.” He'd opened a floodgate, he realized, when the words didn't stop, not even as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. “I'm yours. I want you to own me. I want you to own and control every part of my body. I want you to fuck me until I can't walk.”  
  
“You want me inside you, do you?”  
  
“God, Wily, I want you to fuck my cunt until I'm bruised all over.”  
  
He slithered the tie around her wrists and began manipulating it into a knot. “Your wish is my command.” Each movement was sharp, jerky, pulled a gasp from her lips. “Because I'm going to fuck you raw, until your pussy juices are running down my balls.”  
  
“Yes...”  
  
“I'll leave teethmarks on your neck. On your tits.”  
  
“Yes, please-”  
  
“And if you ever have a single _doubt_ about who you belong to, all you'll need to do is look in the mirror and see the pretty colors I'm going to paint you. Any questions?”  
  
“N-no.”  
  
“No, _what?_ ”  
  
“No, _sir!_ ”  
  
“Better.” He jerked the knot closed before linking a finger around it and pulling her to her feet. “I thought you knew better than that. You've been working for me long enough, haven't you?”  
  
“I'm sorry-”  
  
“You will be.” He led her across the room, all the way to the rack he'd set his coat on before. “It's time for you to learn something new about me, Sarah. When I have things in the perfect place...” He reached out and grabbed the rack. Gave it a shake. It didn't move an inch. “...I want them to stay that way. Even if I have to bolt them in place. Even if I have to tie them down.”  
  
“...that-”  
  
“You have this unerring instinct when it comes to interrupting me.”  
  
She was quiet. She was flushed. He ran his eyes over her body, from head to toe, and felt a little shiver run down his spine.  
  
When he lifted her tied wrists, she didn't fight him, not even when he looped them over the top rack. She had her back to him and was on her tiptoes, but then again, she was also still in heels, and that meant she had a little more support than she otherwise might. He touched his fingers to the top of her spine, just the barest brush, before coaxing them down the dip of her back. He listened to her breathing. Made sure it was speeding up, that the little noise she made was a sound of arousal instead of discomfort. He leaned in until he touched his lips to her top vertebra. “I think there are a lot of things I need to train out of you, my dear.”  
  
“I...”  
  
He slowly grinned until his cheeks were in pain from stretching. “...I did warn you.” And then he smacked his hand across her ass.  
  
“Fff-!” Sarah threw her head back, and her hair tickled his nose. But she didn't draw away from his hand. No, she pushed back against it.  
  
“I warned you many a time.” And he spanked her again, hard enough to jerk her hips forward. “Against many a thing.” And again. “But you've got that prideful little heart, don't you, that willful little mind, just strong enough to be your downfall.”  
  
“I'm sorry-”  
  
He gritted his teeth with how hard he swung his hand, and this time she cried out. “Did I fucking say you could talk? Interrupting. Always interrupting. Can't let anyone else have a say, can you?” He spanked her once again, and then he cupped her cheek in his hand as he leaned in, flush against her, his shirt tickling her skin. “That's how you got yourself into this mess, do you remember that? You just couldn't keep your damn mouth shut.”  
  
She made a quiet sound, but she kept her lips shut. More's the pity.  
  
He glanced down at his hand before sliding it down further. Just enough to breeze over the damp hair only a few inches below. “You're still wet, aren't you? And not just from coming like the little slut you are for me and me alone. No. No, this is new arousal, isn't it?” He pressed his mouth against her ear and growled out his words. “You're fucking _enjoying_ this.”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
He smacked her ass again with a hiss, listened to her scream. “You _want_ to be punished, eh? You know you deserve it.”  
  
“Yes sir-”  
  
And another, cutting off her words. “Dancing around that lab, seducing the fuck out of your boss with every step, every blink of an eye, knowing you have a husband back home. If that doesn't deserve this, I don't know what does.” And then he gave her a spank so hard that he actually saw tears fill her eyes. He let her hover there for a moment as his mind twisted in over itself, and if he happened to breathe out the words “But we won't have to worry about that anymore,” then there was no taking it back.  
  
He didn't expect her to hear. For her to slowly turn her head with a wrinkled brow and whisper “...what?”  
  
He stared at her. Felt a slim surge of panic. And then he flicked his eyes down to his hand before spanking the everliving daylights out of her.  
  
He didn't give her a break this time. Didn't slow down. Didn't give her a chance to resist, to fight him. Not that it mattered. She closed her eyes and shouted out obscenities and took every slap he had for her, every little burst of pain. He lost himself in it, in the feeling of having her give him every little ounce of control over her body, over her entire being, and he kept his teeth gritted in concentration with each swing.  
  
He didn't know how long it went on – time slowed when he lost himself like that – but he suddenly became aware of the fact that her screams had words now, that she was crying out “Stop!”  
  
He froze. His mind went to working again, connecting synapses, neural pathways, and he blinked as he leaned in, his hand still pressed against her rear end. “...is that really what you mean?” he asked softly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It's not...a game?”  
  
“No, I...” She sucked in a shaky breath, and he realized that tears were dripping down her cheeks. “...it's just...it's a lot, and...”  
  
He shouldn't show any mercy. He should pound on. He should fuck the shit out of her, right here, right now.  
  
But she was crying. And, somehow, he didn't think they were tears solely based on her physical pain.  
  
Wily unlooped her hands from the rack and began to lead her to his bedroom, but her legs were shaking and he had the distant thought that she might slip and twist her ankle if she wasn't careful in those heels. If only to make sure he still had an able-bodied employee in the morning, not one slowed down by a cast, he plucked her into his arms and carried on.  
  
He nudged the door open with his foot and approached the massive bed in the center of the room – if he was hedonistic when it came to his sleep, then so be it. He was careful how he set her down, allowing her to shift onto her hip before flopping onto her belly, her hands still tied and laying above her head. He tugged the knot free. It elicited a sharp reaction, apparently, as Sarah gasped and began to tremble all over again. He'd tied it a bit tight, then. “Are you...all right?”  
  
“I'm fine,” she whispered back. Even chuckled. “It feels sort of good, actually.”  
  
He nodded, but he felt at odds and ends, especially when the moonlight shone on her rear and showed him just how red it was. He wasn't a merciful man. Never had been. But he felt a strange pang of sympathy for just how much it must be throbbing. He hadn't been paying attention, hadn't been listening when she first begged him to stop, and...  
  
A thought came to him, and he turned, made his way through the master bedroom suite to the bathroom. He knew it was close. It was just a matter of finding it. He opened his medicine cabinet and peered into it through the dim light before plucking up a tube. He squeezed a bit into his palm as he walked, frowning in concentration, before settling onto the bed beside her and tracing his hand over her rear.  
  
Sarah gasped, arching into his touch. “Jesus, what is that?”  
  
“Aloe gel.” He kept his fingers light, his touch gentle, like he was painting faint details. “Beneficial to have around when your line of work occasionally burns you. How does it feel?”  
  
“Incredible...”  
  
“I thought it might cool the stinging a bit.”  
  
For a time, they were quiet. The only sound was him squeezing a little more gel into his palm, her rustling the sheets as she adjusted and became more comfortable. But after a few minutes she hesitantly began to speak. “You know, sometimes I bet you're disappointed that you ended up with a freak like me as your assistant.”  
  
Wily quirked a brow as he looked at her face, but she kept her eyes cast far across the room. He returned his gaze to his work. “Why do you say that?”  
  
“I...” She pulled the sheet into her fists. “...I mean, listen to what I asked for tonight. To know what I tasted like. To be tied up. God, when you were spanking me, there was a while where I was begging you not to stop.”  
  
“And that makes you a freak?”  
  
She huffed out a sigh. “There's a day and age where I would've been locked up.”  
  
Wily was quiet. He let his thoughts sort themselves out, because for once it seemed very important to have the right words to say. His normal impatience was shoved to the side. “...you have a strange relationship with vulnerability.”  
  
Sarah was silent.  
  
“It's what your husband demanded from you every day. Vulnerability. Compliance. He insisted on it.” When Sarah still didn't speak, he went on. “And thus...you came to crave the opportunity to give it away, but on _your_ terms. Not his. And somehow I gave you that chance.” He screwed the top of the aloe tube on, still looking away from her. “If you're a freak, then so am I. Because you give to me the vulnerability and control that I crave day in and day out.” He shrugged. “We match.”  
  
This time when he glanced up, she was watching him. He held her eyes for a long moment before he leaned down and blew a blast of cold air across her rear, just to soothe her a little further. “Fuck me,” she whispered.  
  
He flashed his eyes to hers again.  
  
“I know you want to.” She winced a little as she turned over, but then there he was, face-to-face with how wet she still was. “And I sure as hell want you to. So please. Fuck me.”  
  
He stared at her for a long few seconds before he began unbuttoning his shirt. He disrobed slowly, carefully, and watched the way she drank in his figure, the way it was bathed in the moonlight. This was the first time she'd seen him completely naked, he realized. Either his tie was on, or his shirt still draped over his torso, or his boxers just barely lowered past his hips. But here he was now, naked as the day he was born. It was an impulse that made him slide her shoes off and toss them to the floor, to make her match him even further.  
  
It made things...more real.  
  
He shoved that thought to the side as he rose over her, chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, and hovered, his forearms resting on either side of her head. He absently traced his fingers through her hair as he aligned their hips. And then he slid inside of her in one sleek motion.  
  
He kept his pace slow, fluid, as he memorized the expressions that danced across her face. Her eyes were shut and her lips were parted, but no matter how sparks were shooting down his spine, how tight and containing she was, he wouldn't do the same. He soaked her up like a sponge. He filed everything away like the computer he should have been.  
  
But this wasn't fucking, something told him. Everything they'd done before this, every single encounter, _that_ was fucking. This was something else. Something new. Something... _rich_ and _different._  
  
And that scared the shit out of him.  
  
When her heat became too much to handle and her groans too much like silk on his bare skin he dipped his head and buried his face in her neck. She drew sharp little exhales from his lips with every thrust. Perfect. It was perfect. Incandescent.  
  
His skin began to buzz in a frenzy, like bees just under the surface, and he breathed words against her flesh. “You belong to me.”  
  
“Yes,” she whispered back, digging her nails into his back and lighting him up with the sweetness of the pain.  
  
“You will _always_ belong to me.” He nipped at her ear and traced her earlobe with his tongue. “Every fucking second of every fucking day.”  
  
“God, _yes,_ Wily...”  
  
“I'll never let you go. Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes, yes sir.” She looped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips to meet his with every movement. Those little rolls egged him on. Made him pick up his pace.  
  
“You're mine,” he whispered.  
  
 _And I'm yours._  
  
He buried that thought in an avalanche of sensation as he dipped his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. He savored the unique taste of her skin, the swear she let fly, as he lathed her breast with his tongue, got it all nice and slick. And if his other hand slid between them and began rubbing circles around her clit, then so be it. It felt important. It felt more important than anything.  
  
He had her on the ropes, bucking her hips and dripping with sweat. It didn't matter that he was close too. No, she mattered more right now. He kept his eyes on her face as he shifted to the other breast and buried her in his ministrations. He held his own release at bay, no matter what it took. And when she finally crested that hill, locked that pussy around his cock, he threw himself against her with reckless abandon, until they both were drowning in blinding color together.  
  
He kept his head. He didn't let himself slip away except for one moment, at the very peak of his climax. But he dragged himself back quickly. Came back to Sarah.  
  
When she began to surface she opened her eyes slowly. Traced them over his face. And this time when she lifted her hand to trace it through his hair, he let her.  
  
It was a number of minutes before she smiled up at him. “I'm thirsty.”  
  
He cocked his head to the side. “Always so demanding.”  
  
“Always.” She sat up and slid to the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Want anything?”  
  
“No. Help yourself.”  
  
“Oh, I shall.” She wandered away, and did he imagine it or did she throw just a little extra sway into those hips of hers? He watched them with a slow smirk, even a little shake of his head. The minx.  
  
When she came back she had a wine glass filled with water and his fedora in her other hand. He quirked a brow – one did not soil wine glasses with water, for one – before scoffing. “And what do you expect to do with that?”  
  
She smirked at him sidelong, a mischievous look worthy of Pan himself, before taking a sip of her water. “Oh, I don't know. Just thought I'd see how it felt to be the man. The legend.” And then she perched the hat jauntily on her head and came to a stop in front of his mirror.  
  
She turned this way and that, standing on her tiptoes, cocking out a hip, extending a leg, that smirk of hers never fading. Wily settled onto his side and felt his own smirk soften into more of a smile. “...you know, it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”  
  
Sarah stuck her tongue out at him before tipping her head back and resting her fingers ever so lightly on the brim. “You sound like a man desperate for Round Two.”  
  
“Maybe.” He sat up and crossed his legs, one over the other. The thought was buzzing around in his head, but he didn't realize he spoke it until it was drifting through the air. “Stay here tonight.”  
  
She froze. And then she turned her head, eyes wide. “What?”  
  
“Stay here.” He shrugged. “It's late. The sun will rise in only a few hours. And you're tired. So stay.”  
  
She stared at him in silence.  
  
“Don't make me institute a curfew.”  
  
“You would, wouldn't you?” She clung to his words, happily took the chance to make them into a joke. Not a threat that he meant with every fiber of his being. But she finished her water. She set his hat aside. And then she crawled into bed beside him.  
  
They didn't spoon up against each other. They didn't hold hands or kiss each other good night. But right there, with the heat of her body beside his, he fell under Morpheus's spell in an instant. And he slept better than he had in fifteen years.


End file.
